Golden
by cinnab3an
Summary: Sam's the one who's all up in nature's business at the reserve he co-runs, yet Dean's the one saddled with the responsibility of caring for the quirky little bird dude who can't seem to fit himself back into the wild.


Four hours after he'd left to take Charlie's shift at the reserve, Sam calls Dean.

"Havin an issue with one of the, uh, guests around here," he says. The desperation is thick in his voice when he continues, "do you think you could, maybe, grab some-I don't know, fish?-and head on over here? Help me out?"

Usually, the reserve is the last place Sam wants Dean. Because of that, he's never been. Heard the occasional tales about it from Charlie, one of his closest friends, the one who mostly runs the place, but he's never actually stepped foot inside, despite her invites.

"You sure?" Dean asks, just as much to rile him up as to make certain whether he's gonna have to turn off the latest episode of _Doctor Sexy_ , which he's currently in the process of marathoning. "I mean, usually you tell me not-"

"I _know_ I tell you not to come," Sam snaps. In the background, there is a faint shrieking going on. Sam's voice goes away for a minute as he growls at somebody or something back there, and then it comes back. "This dude's really pissed that the river is so polluted this year and he's not getting enough fish and he's taking it out on-will you cut it _out_ I'm _trying_ to get some fish for you-he's taking it out on me and I could really use a helping hand, please, so call me back when you get here."

Dean grumbles as he puts away his phone and pauses the TV for when he gets back, but he gets up to grab his leather jacket and keys all the same. At the dining room table he pauses, glancing between the two wallets and then grabbing both. If Sam wants to spontaneously invite him to get fish for _his_ rescue critters, he can pay for them.

The drive over to the Safeway between their house and the reserve takes less than fifteen minutes, but then Dean has to patter around the meat section of the store and try to guess the quality of the fish he sees. If whoever he's getting these for is displeased by natural, wild fish, he or she is not gonna enjoy processed fish any better, but whatever he was sent here for a reason and so he finally chooses two salmon fillets and a whole rainbow trout, hoping that they're enough to satisfy the critter Sam has waiting for him. When he makes it to the check-out line, his phone buzzes with a frantic text from his brother.

[ **Sam** ]:Dean can you hury?/?  
[ **Dean** ]: going as fast as I can dude chill  
[ **Dean** ]:focus on ur lil animal buddy ill b there soon

The lady in front of him in the line is perhaps halfway through with her groceries when he glances up from his phone. She alternates between transferring them from cart to conveyor belt and casting disgusted glances between Dean and the fish in his hands. The next time she looks at him he stares back and wiggles the trout out of its paper wrapping so that the mouth flops open and closed in her direction. She scowls at him, but starts loading up the belt faster, which is more than Dean was expecting, really. He makes sure to send her an arrogant grin and waves the fish goodbye at her retreating back once she finally gathers up her purchase and leaves. The cashier, either ignorant or uncaring of the exchange, makes the transaction quickly and barely offers a second glance at the credit card that most certainly does not belong to Dean, which he's grateful for because it's hard to make his brother pay when he doesn't carry cash in his wallet. The fish are slipped into a paper bag that Dean carefully sets inside his car once he gets back outside. His hands are already starting to smell like fish; he doesn't want his car to.

Though he's never been to the reserve, Dean knows the kind of creatures that live there. Not the usual wildlife, but the type that often had a human face, the type that had used to exist only in stories before they were discovered to actually roam the earth. Charlie's favorite of the frequent visitors is a gentle fairy who calls herself Gilda, who had come to the reserve to escape from poachers and then returned for the friendly faces. Sam had been fond of a werewolf named Madison, until she'd been caught off the reserve hunting humans and was killed accidentally by one of her targets. Dean's also heard tales of a forest imp known for playing pranks on everyone, a pack of hell hounds that were either docile and sweet or ferocious and deadly, and a yellow-eyed Kludde that was dangerous because it had a nasty habit of causing forest fires. All in all, even though he's thrilled to get to see at least a few of the beasts once thought to be mythical, Dean's more than a little nervous. He knows how to defend himself and hold his own in a fight, but only with humans. He's never had to face beings with talons and fangs before. He hopes he won't have to today.

Lost in thought about sparring with monsters, the minutes and the miles speed past Dean and before he knows it, he's outside the iron and steel perimeter fence. The bars of the fence are thicker than his arm, enough to deter people from finding their way inside, and are made of the two materials that bother most creatures enough to discourage any contact with them. The main road splits into an unpaved dirt path that follows the fence about a mile into the surrounding forest, before bending sharply inside through a tall spiked gate. At one corner of the gate is a pedestal with a keypad, designed to allow only those with a code in and expertly crafted by Charlie to repel anyone trying to hack in.

[ **Dean** ]: at the gate, need code asap  
[ **Dean** ]: ps this fish smells like ass, u owe me big time

From where he sits outside the gate, Dean can see the long twisting river that winds through the entirety of the reserve and for a good few miles outside of it. It's one of the reasons that the Lebanon Reserve for Creatures of Myth is one of the most diverse and well-funded reserves in the country-the massive river provides an excellent living space for water-dependent beings and offers fresh water and marine prey for the land-dwelling creatures. A good hundred or so feet into the reserve rests an outcropping of boulders that are flat at the top and slope into the water, a perfect place for resting and sunning. Dean can see the outline of something dark green and shimmery draped half in and half out of the river, though he has no clue what it is. A shiver of excitement rolls down his spine. He is _so_ ready to go in there and meet all the things of legend.

[ **Sam** ]: 493416  
[ **Sam** ]:(Pt1/3) turn your music off, drive slowly, and stay on the path until you get to  
[ **Sam** ]:(Pt 2/3)the cabins. Keep your windows rolled up. Watch out for anything on  
[ **Sam** ]:(Pt 3/3)the road but don't get out of the car until you get to me.

Dean leans out the window to punch in the code and then cranks it back up as the gate starts rolling open. The space between the two halves of the gate is roughly nine feet across, enough to fit most vehicles through without allowing much room for nearby creatures to escape. He rolls carefully through the space, observing the way the gate slides shut as soon as the last handful of inches of his car passes through and making a personal note not to take his time getting through in case the gate decides to close on his car. When he passes the boulders next to the river, he's a bit disappointed to notice that the green form is no longer on display, tells himself to ask Sam about it once he gets the fish delivered. The lack of music unnerves him after a minute or two and he starts whistling quietly as he makes his way deeper into the reserve, taking in details that he'd never been able to see before in all the times he'd dropped Sam off at the gates and then driven away. To the right of the path is the river, which is surrounded by marshes and cattails that turn into grassy plains and rolling hills. On the left is the forest that, once past the perimeter of the fence, seems to become as unreal and fantastical as the creatures who live in it. Enormous dark trees seem to reach for hundreds of feet into the sky, blotting out most of the sunlight that makes a decent attempt to stream through the canopy and reach the forest floor,

As Dean drives on, he becomes aware of two things. Firstly, the forest smoothly transitions from dark and ethereal to light and magical-looking. Secondly, over the hum of his car and the soft notes of his whistling, is a far away cacophony that is slowly becoming louder as he gets closer. In the distance he can see what he assumes to be the cabins that Sam was speaking of, the buildings that the reserve caretakers sometimes live in, where medical supplies and research files are kept, and where expectant parents come to lay their clutches or litters. The shrieks and screeches Dean guesses are from the enraged monster that Sam's dealing with, that _he_ will soon be dealing with.

Once he gets close enough to the cabins to make out details, he realizes the reserve has suddenly fallen silent. _He's seen me,_ Dean thinks bizarrely. _He knows I'm here._ He quickly surveys the area around him before reaching for his phone.

[ **Dean** ]: at the cabins, princess. where r u?  
[ **Dean** ]: feel like i'm bein watched dude, this is crazy

Dean drums his fingers across the dashboard of his car, feeling unnerved by the sensation of being watched when there is no visible being around him. He knows Sam's problematic critter is the one watching him, but he doesn't even know what he is, let alone what he looks like. The shifting in the treetops could be something, or it could be wind. That could be the glint of eyes in the shadows of a cabin, or it could be sunlight reflecting off of litter. That could be the thing right there, walking toward him-or it could be his sasquatch of a brother, taller than he has any right to be and big enough to look like he belongs in a forest of things more incredible than humans.

Sam has a scratch that stretches from under his left eye across his cheek that looks swollen and like it's been bleeding for a while with no sign of stopping. He has gravel and bits of grass and leaves in his hair, and looks like he's wearing the dust and grime of the reserve as another layer.

" _Please_ tell me you have fish. You got the fish, right?"

Dean snags the paper bag and holds it up to the windshield where his brother can see when he gets close enough. Unfortunately, the fish have been out of refrigeration long enough to unleash a god-awful stink when he accidentally crinkles the bag open. Gagging, he cranks down the window and shoves the bag outside into the fresh air. Sam makes a face when the stench reaches him but reaches out and takes the bag from him.

He pulls out the trout first, then sets the bag down, holding the fish up to the sky like an offering to the gods above.

"Look," he calls into the open air, "here's your fish! Will you calm down and come get it, or are we going to have to do this the hard way?"

He's still waving the trout above him and that's when Dean realizes that the grumpy monster is sky-dwelling. Suspicious, he twists in his seat to peer at the treetops behind the car, the ones that he had seen shifting in what he'd convinced himself to be wind. There, in the uppermost branches of one of the larger trees in the area; a large shape dappled with multiple shades of blue.

Dean watches the thing stay put and ignore Sam for a good thirty seconds before clearing his throat and shooting his brother a pointed look toward the treeline.

Dean knows the exact moment Sam finds the thing he's looking for because he immediately rolls his eyes, sets his features into a bitch face, and starts shuffling to the trees, fish firmly grasped and still held high.

"He do that often?"

"What," Sam snorts, "hide away in the trees every time he's in a sulk? Yeah. Though I bet at least part of the reason this time is because you're here. The only humans he's really used to are the ones around here, and he hates most of us." He glances down at the fish in his hands and then at the distance between himself and the monster in the trees, looking like he's seriously contemplating just giving up on trying to make nice and simply tossing the trout in his general direction, and then heaves out a sigh. "As much as I'd love to just give up, I have to remember that most of the experience he's had with people has been negative, and he barely trusted me before the whole river thing. Now, I swear he thinks the pollution is somehow my doing, like I want nothing more in my 'disgusting human life' to make his miserable in as many ways as I can."

Dean grunts in acknowledgement but doesn't know what to even say to that, so he gets out of the car and takes a few steps first to collect the salmon fillets, then to his brother. He grips Sam's shoulder tightly to offer a bit of support and then when his brother turns around to do the same, immediately drops his hand and flinches when the action causes an incredibly loud scream from the trees. "Dude, what the hell?!" he snaps, trying to block out the sound by dropping the fish and covering his ears but the noise is so damn earsplitting that it doesn't help at all. "The fuck's his problem?"

"He's a harpy," Sam shouts back. "They use high volume shrieks to defend themselves from predators at a distance. He must've seen you grab me and thought you were attacking me, or about to attack him or something. Just, back up or something. Go back to the car. And give me the fish!"

Dean picks up the bag and shoves it into Sam's hands before turning tail and jogging back to his car. As soon as he gets back there, the auditory attack halts and the air is filled with silence. A single _cark?_ rings out from the treeline and the harpy shudders in his perch. "Look, man," Dean yells up at him, cupped hands increasing the volume in an attempt to give him a taste of his own medicine, "just here to give you your goddamn fish so you have something good to eat, okay? Think you should probably calm down." Sam tosses a glare at him over his shoulder from where he's crouched a few paces in front of him, tearing open the package of salmon fillets and arranging them and the trout in a pile on the ground meant to be appealing.

"He doesn't speak English, you moron, what good's talking to him going to do?"

"You were talking to him earlier, on the phone!"

"Yeah, but I wasn't actually _talking_ to him, I was talking _at_ him. He understands the feelings behind what we say, and most of the meaning usually, but he doesn't know the words. Probably came from somewhere else around the world; the rest of the harpies 'round here came from the same flock and all knew English."

Once he's got the pile of offerings made up as neatly as he can, Sam moves back to his brother's side. As soon as he gets close enough to reach out and touch Dean, the harpy starts wailing again. Startled, Dean takes a step away from Sam and the harpy quiets. "Sam, what's going on? That was all you, there's no way he could've thought I was about to hurt you or something."

Sam eyes the harpy with a puzzled expression, not one of not understanding, but something instead resembling disbelief. "I think I have an idea," he says with a chuckle. He rubs his hands against the filthy lap of his pants and makes to wipe one against the cut across his face that had begun bleeding again, but frowns at the dirt all over it and instead uses his forearm. Dean itches to step forward and patch up his little brother, assess the damage, but he's afraid of setting off the harpy again-and that's when Sam suddenly steps in close, crowding Dean up against the side of his car and throwing his long arms out on either side of Dean to prevent him from sliding away.

" _Sam!?_ "

"Relax, Dean, this will only take a-"

The harpy fucking _explodes_ , sounding like a whole damn marching band, no, a whole fucking orchestra where every musician has decided to just say _fuck it_ and collectively play the most obnoxious, ear-destroying note as loud as they can. He leaps from the tree and sails down toward the ground and _fuck_ , Dean thinks, _he's huge._ Easily six feet tall, bigger even than Sam, with enormous dark wings that must span at least twenty feet from wingtip to wingtip. His legs are twist like a bird's, with long eagle-like talons. Both his legs and his arms are covered in thick, shiny opaque scales, though on his legs they split around the calves to shift to deep blue feathers. On his forearms, from his wrists to his elbows, are a line of sharp looking spines. Between his two large eyes is a stripe of pale blue feathers that begins at the tip of his nose and carries across his forehead, through his feathery hair, to form a sort of sail on his back that flares with his wings. His mouth is huge and gaping and full of teeth that look big and sharp enough to chomp Dean's arm off in one bite. In short, he looks _terrifying_.

And he's coming straight toward them.


End file.
